Turned To Stone
by BasketKiwi
Summary: Arnold shot his brother. It was an accident, but he finds his emotions blocked and everyone takes his shock for heartlessness. He's ready to feel again, but is his mother ready to forgive him? Based on The Stone Boy by Gina Berriault.


**_A/N: This is a fanfiction based on "The Stone Boy" by Gina Berriault (a short story). It was also done for an English project, but I kinda-sorta liked this one, too (xD), so I posted it. _****_I don't own any of the setting or characters, just the arrangement of them._****_ It takes place from the mother's point of view, when he comes to her room the night he killed Eugie. Oh, and only the italics at the beginning and end are part of the story. The part in the middle I wrote myself._**

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**Turned to Stone**

Based on "The Stone Boy" by Gina Berriault

_" He awoke suddenly. He knew that his father was out in the yard, closing the doors of the chicken houses so that the chickens could not roam out too early and fall prey to the coyotes that came down from the mountains at daybreak. The sound that had wakened him was the step of his father as he got up from the rocker and went down the back steps. And he knew that his mother was awake in her bed. _

_Throwing off the covers, he rose swiftly, went down the stairs and across the dark parlor to his parents' room. He rapped on the door._

_"Mother?"_

_From the closed room her voice rose to him, a seeking and retreating voice. "Yes?"_

_"Mother?" he asked insistently. He had expected her to realize that he wanted to go down on his knees by her bed and tell her that Eugie was dead. She did not know it yet, nobody knew it, and yet she was sitting up in bed, waiting to be told, waiting for him to confirm her dread. He had expected her to tell him to come in, to allow him to dig his head into her blankets and tell her about the terror he had felt when he had knelt beside Eugie. He had come to clasp her in his arms and, in his terror, to pommel her breasts with his head. He put his hand upon the knob._

_"Go back to bed, Arnold," she called sharply._

_But he waited._

_"Go back! Is night when you get afraid?"_

_At first he did not understand. Then, silently, he left the door and for a stricken moment stood by the rocker. Outside everything was still. The fences, the shocks of wheat seen through the window before him were so still it was as if they moved and breathed in the daytime and had fallen silent with the lateness of the hour. It was a silence that seemed to observe his father, a figure moving alone around the yard, his lantern casting a circle of light by his feet. In the yard, his lantern casting a circle of light by his feet. In a few minutes his father would enter the dark house, the lantern still lighting his way. _

_Arnold was suddenly aware that he was naked. He had thrown off his blankets and come down the stairs to tell his mother how he felt about Eugie, but she had refused to listen to him and his nakedness had become unpardonable. At once he went back up the stairs, fleeing from his father's lantern. " _(pg. 351-352 of short story book)

* * *

"Mother?"

Dina sat up in bed, gasping as the remnants of the nightmare released her senses. She gulped and felt slightly hesitant. "Yes?"

"Mother?" It was a bit more desperate this time. That voice. The voice of Arnold, her _son. _Well, she'd had two sons just that morning and now one was lost, gone forever except for in the haunting dreams she was sure to have more of.

She had dreamt of her son, lying spread-eagle in a field, face looking up at the wide blue sky, eyes unfocused and oddly glazed over. And then Arnold had come, carrying that God-forsaken gun and sniggering that awful snorting chuckle of his. And Arnold had stood there, saying horrible things to Dina, describing what had happened and mocking everyone's concern over the loss of "one stupid boy."

And now she cringed at the memory of the twisted dreams and the silence stretched on until it twirled and danced in her ears, laughing at how she couldn't hear it, until she felt the pressure wrap around her head and her heart. It swirled around, trapping her, threatening to envelop her until she couldn't stand his cold silence anymore.

"Go back to bed Arnold," she called to the door. A thin ray of moonlight slipped under the space between the bottom of her door and the rough blue carpet. The distorted shadows of his feet and ankles stopped their fidgeting and froze in a horrified stillness.

"Go back! Is night when you get afraid?"

And she felt a strange triumph at that. Like she'd hurt him, hurt him like he hurt Eugie, like he hurt her. And she almost went on. Dina almost cried, "_Are_ you afraid? Can you feel fear or anything else at all? Can you feel pain? Guilt or grief? Remorse or regret? Can you _feel_, Arnold?" But then his shadow was gone, and she pictured his tiny, dejected form returning to the empty room with nothing to do except think about how the other narrow bed was empty. Or how it always would be, and that was all his fault.

And a scene played out across her closed eyelids, as the sound of her calm breaths transformed into small sobs, small lonely sobs, ripping themselves from her baby's chest. She saw him curled into a ball, wrapped in the thick quilt she'd knitted for him when he was a baby. He lay there, smelling the blanket for any trace of her, for any trace of a mother that had loved him. She could taste his warm salty tears and feel his tiny trembling hands. And she wrenched her eyes open, the illusion dissolving as she did. Eventually the sound of his imaginary sobs melted away too, until she was left sitting up in bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, wrapped in her arms and chilling her chin.

Arnold hadn't cried. She had imagined the whole thing. Arnold hadn't felt sad or horrified or anything when he shot her son. _He had gone to pick peas._ He was cold and cruel and heartless and a murderer. But wait, was that right? It didn't _feel_ right. Arnold had never been emotionless. He had always been a perfectly normal little boy. Better than normal, he had been wonderful. Suddenly, a new wave of images flooded her mind. Scenes and events where Arnold had been, just . . . Arnold.

_

* * *

A small child lay on top of a black ball of fur, shaking with hiccupping sobs. Dina walked over and picked him up._

"_It's alright, honey, Snookie-Willows is in a better place." Arnold's face was covered with tears and he looked up skeptically, still hiccupping. _

"_Where?" Dina sighed and thought quickly. _

"_Why, Piggeldy Shnorkin, of course. That's where all good dead animals go, and it's got lots of wide fields to play in, and rabbits to chase . . ." _

_But Arnold's face had already brightened and he giggled into his hand. "Hee-hee . . . Piggeldy Shnorkin . . . . Hee-hee!"_

_

* * *

Eugie smiled nervously and ran his hand through his long, matted hair before slipping on a cap and walking out the back door after his father._

"_Is Daddy really gonna teach Euey how to get Bessie down the mountain?" Arnold asked eagerly. _

_Dina smiled fondly. "Yes, Arnie, it's about time, too. Your father's too old to be going up the mountain every time Bessie starts feelin' rebellious," she joked, but Arnold was standing on his tip-topes, peering out the back window, trying to get a glimpse of Eugie before he disappeared into the thick tree-line. _

"_Someday, Momma, I'm gonna be _just_ like Euey! I'll try real hard to be cool!" He now turned to Dina and looked up into her eyes with a pleading expression, insistently tugging on her every last heartstring. _

"_All I ever want you to be is you, Arnie. Okay?" And he'd beamed at her, run up, and clung to her legs like a lifeline. _

* * *

"_Thank you doctor," Dina whispered. She didn't want to wake up Nora. Not after she'd finally gotten to sleep. _

"_The fever should break sometime before morning," the frail old doctor said kindly. "She's going to be fine." And he took his large black doctor's bag and left. _

_She was about to walk back into the bedroom when she heard the soft voice of her youngest son. "It's all going to be okay now Nora, see?" Dina walked up to the door and peeked through the crack. "I know you was scared and, by golly, I was too! But your fever will be gone soon and I'll help Ma bake you some good old apple cake! How does that sound?" There sat Arnold, in his little wooden chair that Eugie had made him for his birthday. It was crooked and roughly made, but Arnold adored it almost as much as he adored Eugie himself. With one hand he pressed the cold cloth gently on Nora's forehead and with the other he held her hand, stroking it with his thumb. _

"_I _do _love . . . apple cake . . ." Nora murmured softly. Dina almost started to cry again. For a while there, it had been close. 105ºF. "But we don't . . . have . . . any apples." _

_Arnold grinned impishly. "Sure we do! I snuck over to the Crams' orchard yesterday when I found out you were sick and brought a whole picnic basket-full back!" He didn't look proud of sneaky, just concerned. _

"_Thanks, Arnie . . . mean s'alot . . . " Nora mumbled. Arnold stood up and kissed her on the cheek. "'Night Nora. Love you." And he curled up on the bottom of her bed and watcher her until she fell asleep with a small smile on her face._

* * *

By now warm tears are spilling from Dina's eyes like a torrent of water breaking free. Her son, her wonderful son Arnold, had cared about Eugie. He cared so much about everything. When they made Snookie-Willows sleep out in the barn for eating the Thanksgiving turkey, Arnold had gotten out of his crib and slept with the dog in the hay. When Nora dropped her new doll down the stairs and broke its beautiful porcelain face, Arnold had chucked his favorite snow globe from Aunt Rita down the stairs twice until it shattered and they sat together at the bottom of the stairs, laughing and crying at their broken treasures. And how many times, how many horrible, wonderful times had she watched him through the back window as he walked deliberately out of the shade and into the 90º sun until his clothes dampened and stuck to his body? She wasn't stupid. Dina knew he was trying to feel what she felt, experience what she had to experience every day all summer long in order to feed the family.

No. Arnold was anything but cold and cruel and heartless. He was warm and loving and compassionate. Something must be wrong. Maybe he thought he had to be strong. Maybe killing Eugie, his idol, his _brother_, had _broken_ him somehow. Maybe he was just confused or in shock.

Dina felt awful. Her baby had come to her in his time of desperate need, seeking comfort and what had she done? She had mocked and rejected him. Made him feel worthless and humiliated. Perhaps he had been about to snap, about to finally let his emotional wall crumble. What if it was too late? Maybe she should go to him right now and coddle him and comfort him and just hold him until the storm had passed and he was her darling Arnie again.

She stood up, but was hit with another projection of an image. Not a nightmare, or an old memory, or a scenario. She saw pictures of him. She remembered what it had been like just to see him laying on the ground, turning him over to find her son's face cold and pale and stiff. And she wanted to go to Arnold and tell him everything will be all right. She wanted to cradle her baby and tell him she understood everything. But all she could hear was that gunshot. All she could smell was those darned freshly picked peas. All she could taste was the bitter bile that had risen in her throat as she bolted out of the kitchen door and down the field. All she could feel was the cold soft skin of her poor son's face as she turned him over to prove Arnold wrong. She had expected a wave of relief. He was just asleep! Even just a little bit hurt was better than the reality. The reality was that she had been hit with something, but it hadn't been relief, it had been realization.

She wanted to go to Arnold and tell him she loved him, but all she could see was the pained, empty look on Eugie's face. The nightmares came creeping back into the room, seeping into her and making her experience the worst moment of her life again and again. She curled up in bed, left alone to cry in silent solitude, never knowing Arnold was doing the same thing.

* * *

" _At breakfast he kept his eyelids lowered as if to deny the humiliating night. Nora, sitting at his left, did not pass the pitcher of milk to him and he did not ask for it. He would never again, he vowed, ask them for anything, and he ate his fried eggs and potatoes only because everybody ate meals—the cattle ate, and the cats; it was customary for everyone to eat. _

"_Nora, you gonna keep that pitcher for yourself?" his father asked. _

_Nora lowered her head unsurely._

"_Pass it on to Arnold," his father said._

_Nora put her hands in her lap. _

_His father picked up the metal pitcher and set it down at Arnold's plate. _

_Arnold, pretending to be deaf to the discord, did not glance up but relief rained over his shoulders at the thought that his parents recognized him again. They must have lain awake after his father had come in from the yard: had they realized together why he had come down the stairs and knocked at their door?_

"_Bessie's missin' this morning," his father called out to his mother, who had gone into the kitchen. "She went up the mountain last night and had her calf, most likely. Somebody's got to go up and find her 'fore the coyotes get the calf."_

_That had be Eugie's job, Arnold thought. Eugie would climb the cattle trails in search of a newborn calf and come down the mountain carrying the calf across his back, with the cow running down along behind him, mooing in alarm. _

_Arnold ate the few more forkfuls of his breakfast, put his hands on the edge of the table and pushed back his chair. If he went for he calf he'd be away from the farm all morning. He could switch the cow down the mountain slowly, and the calf would run along at its mother's side._

_When he passed through the kitchen his mother was setting a kettle of water on the stove. "Where are you going?" she asked awkwardly._

"_Up to get the calf," he replied, averting his face._

"_Arnold?"_

_At the door he paused reluctantly, his back to her, knowing that she was seeking him out, as his father was doing, and he called upon his pride to protect him from them._

"_Was you knocking at my door last night?"_

_He looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes narrow and dry._

"_What'd you want?" she asked humbly._

"_I didn't want nothing," he said flatly._

_Then he went out the door and down the back steps, his legs trembling form the fright his answer gave him. " _(pg. 352-353 in short story book)


End file.
